


Ultraviolence

by Demimonde (teakturn)



Series: Stiles & Peter Go Dark [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Dark, And then makes it go away, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Developing Relationship, Drug Addiction, Dubcon Kissing, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forced Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Control, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Peter, Manipulative Relationship, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Causes the Pain, Stiles-centric, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, sorta fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/Demimonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loses his dad, and Peter makes everything all better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End, The Beginning

_“You’re gonna have to choose sweetheart.”_

_“What?”_

_“Well, I don’t see Miss Martin forgiving me any time soon, and your True Alpha best friend doesn’t look desperate to have me back in his life. So, as much as it pains me to say this, you’re gonna have to make a very difficult decision.”_

_“I’m not giving up my friends for you! Or this!”_

_“And I wouldn’t ask you to darling, lord knows my ego won’t survive it once you finally choose them. I’m sure there’s other drug dealer’s happy to take your money.”_

_“Wait, what?”_

_“I’m under no delusion as to what this is Stiles. You came to me to take your mind off of your father. And it’s been lovely dear, it really has. But despite what I may have wanted, and what I have allowed myself to believe, this was all temporary. You made that obvious from the start.”_

_“Peter-”_

_“Stiles, you should go I think. Scott expects you to make a decision right? Well text him, tell him you did. I’m sure the lovely Mrs. McCall knows wonderful rehabilitation centers that will take great care of you.”_

  


His father dies when Stiles is in his third year at Berkeley. The fact hits him curiously and sluggishly. His mind, usually so quick and quite honestly hard to follow, has slowed almost to a standstill. He waits for the usual painful blow to the center of his chest, but it’s curiously empty. He wants to look down, assure himself that the organ is still present, but his head feels too heavy.

Sinking deeper into this supple leather couch seems so much better.

His father dies due to unknown heart complications due to a past history of smoking cigarettes. Stiles is twenty one and drowning under the weight of being a double major and missing his friends. And when he finally checks his phone after a week long cram session and another week of midterms, he gets a bleak voicemail from Melissa McCall.

He hadn’t heard from her since the summer before junior year, back when he practically lived at her house since she and his father were trying out the whole dating thing. She sounded devastated, and simply asked that he call her as soon as he received the message.

And then he did something, he can’t remember. He remembers deciding to go back for the funeral, smile and put on a brave face for his friends. But other than collecting the insurance money and selling the house, he can’t remember what he did with his time.

“Hmmm, somebody's up.” A voice coos from over his head.

He thinks of moving, the thought traveling at a sluggish pace through his psyche before finally, his head tips up. It feels too abrupt and leaves him reeling, but he can tell the movement had been this shy of too slow. Cause now Peter’s leaning over the side of the couch and giving him an upside down smile.

A thought niggles at the back of his mind, _You hate this guy. He caused you and your friends an unreasonable amount of pain and fear for nearly two years. He kidnapped you. He’s a murderer._

But then Peter moves his hand, his large and warm and thick hand, and caresses Stiles’ cheek. And nothing else really matters except the euphoric wave of pleasure he gets from skin on skin contact. “Tell me how you feel sweetheart. Was this what you wanted?”

Stiles decides that speaking, isn’t needed, he can just show the older man how he feels. So he leans up and tries to kiss him. The air is too dense and he has bird bones, fragile and small and meant to float on the breeze. The force needed to push himself nearly drains him, his limbs too languid and almost unresponsive. But he manages, and Peter meets him halfway.

Peter’s kisses have multiple personality disorder, and when Stiles is high like this he finds he’s not as good at figuring out which kiss is what. This feels like the kiss he gives him after Stiles has sucked him off for a few grams. Grateful yet hungry. He racks his brain to figure out if he was actually able to pay for what he took today or if her... _payed_ for it in the way Peter usually prefers.

His head protests the heavy thinking, and he almost decides to cut the kiss off so he could focus through the fog in his mind. But he settles deeper into it anyway, allowing Peter to control the pace.

When Peter pulls back, his hand returns to stroking along the side of Stiles’ face, “Thank you kitten, but I need an answer.”

Stiles is about to ask him what he means, and then his eyes actually focus on their positioning, and he bursts into slurred giggles. He curls into himself and flops back on the couch cushions heavily, still wheezing and giggling.

“Spiderman,” he hums out once he finally catches his breath.

When he looks back up at Peter, he’s smiling down at him fondly. Indulgently. Like Stiles is a little boy who’s spent his whole life in the desert, seeing the ocean for the first time. He smiles like Stiles is his sun, or maybe his moon, and he’s helpless under its light.

“I’m going to lower the dosage next time, darling.” When Stiles whines and pouts, Peter puts a calming hand on his throat, “Shush now love, I don’t want to take you too far. I might lose you.”

He squeezes a warning, and Stiles reigns in his pout. He only whines when Peter attempts to take his hand away from his neck. It’s a short and high whine, more of a whimper, but Peter sighs nonetheless and begins awkwardly walking himself around the couch to sit next to Stiles and keep his grip on Stiles’ throat.

His grip is sure and strong, not restricting at all. Peter probably could kill him, pop out his claws and apply stinging pressure. Look him in his eyes and call him sweetheart and kitten and dove. Then with one cruel yank, Stiles could be choking on his own blood.

It’s almost a sobering thought, but then he remembers how unpleasant being sober is, and he decides to lean against Peter so all the noise in his mind blots out of existence. He doesn’t need to think with Peter by his side, Peter will think for him.

 

“What happened today Stiles? Why’d you ask me for this again? I thought you were trying to focus on weed only.” Peter tightens and relaxes his hold on Stiles’ neck intermittently, it’s to ground him, keep him present enough to answer his questions before he forgets them.

And Peter just knows him _so_ well. It’s nice to know he doesn’t have to explain his emotions all the time. Peter knows that Stiles had wanted to temper this vice, use it occasionally so he wouldn’t form a habit. For Stiles to show up with sixty bucks and red rimmed eyes, Peter knew it had to be bad. 

Because Peter just _knows_.

“I was feeling,” Stiles clears his throat, and then licks his lips, and then he begins to gnaw on his bottom lip. He repeats the process while he searches for his words, and it takes Peter’s growl to rumble threateningly between them for him to realize that he’d forgotten what he was saying.

“I was feeling alone. Scott proposed to Allison, Lydia’s working on her doctorate already, and I….I can’t even get out of bed most days. This….”Stiles presses both hands on his chest and pushes and pushes until Peter’s pulling away one hand and kissing it with pursed lips.

“You feel adrift,” Peter leads.

Stiles shakes his head, and then the action of shaking his head causes a weird swinging sensation so he chases it by shaking again. It’s like when you spin in circles in an office chair. You spin and you spin and you spin until you stop but it’s like your head keeps spinning without you. Peter only nudges him slightly to warn him about swinging too far, and Stiles tries to remember to take the hint.

“What do you feel Stiles, tell Daddy.” Peter rumbles into the shell of Stiles’ ear, effectively stopping his shaking and shocking him out of his haze.

“Daddy?” he questions weakly.

“I take care of you don’t I?” Peter flick a tongue out to lap gently at his earlobe, when inhuman teeth follow the wet patch his tongue left, Stiles whimpers.

“You…”

“And I make sure you go to school and do your homework. I make sure you succeed.” Peter releases the earlobe he’d begun to suck on, and turns to press butterfly kisses along the back of Stiles’ hand. “You feel alone. Scott has Allison and Lydia has her work, but who does _Genim_ have?”

Stiles feels like he’s sinking under the weight of drugs and Peter’s influence. Wherever Peter kisses is left tingling and oversensitive. His head feels overfull and empty and his bones feel like they’ve been weighted down. He’s experiencing too many sensations at once and he’s trying desperately to focus on where this conversation is going. 

Because something is wrong. Something is _wrong_.

“Who do you have, darling?” Peter prompts again.

“You?” Stiles asks.

He arches his neck to rest the back of his head on Peter’s shoulder, all the while trying to find the answers to all his questions in Peter’s gaze. He can’t remember how he found the wolf again. He’d suddenly disappeared from Beacon Hills, and Stiles stumbled upon him near Oakland, high out of his mind and stranded from the group of people he’d been partying with.

Peter took him back to his apartment, cleaned him up, and put him to bed. When Stiles woke up with a major hangover, already suffering through withdrawals, Peter was there with a bong, a lighter, and Hair of the Dog as a cure.

He’d been reluctant to include the zombie wolf in his life, but he just couldn’t escape the man. Peter turned up at the most opportune moments. Like when Stiles was blackout drunk and minutes away from walking into oncoming traffic. Or when Stiles stranded himself in San Francisco without his cell phone or his wallet. He was there to protect him, bring him back to his apartment and make him get some sleep.

And most importantly, when Peter found out that Stiles had called an open season on any and all drugs he could get his hands on, Peter decided revealed that he’d been selling them himself. He gave Stiles a discounted price, a place to use, and made sure it wasn’t laced with anything that would give him permanent brain damage.

All Stiles had to do was spend time with the man. Which turned out not to be as much as a hardship as he originally thought it would be. He hadn’t told Scott, didn’t know if he would. If he told Scott then Scott would demand to know what Peter had to manipulate him with and that was something he didn’t want to share with anyone.

“Hmmhm.” Peter hums into his ear. Stiles can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body and he wants to settle into it like a cat, burrow into that warm place Peter reserves just for him like a bunny. When Stiles tries to move, snuggle closer perhaps, Peter’s fingers tighten on the various limbs and appendages he has within his grasp.

“You’re going to let Daddy take care of you right Stiles?” Peter asks innocently.

An alarm sounds, dully, in the back of his mind, but Stiles ignores it. He just nods his head, and closes his eyes. He wants to ride out the final wave of his high before it begins to slowly peter out of his system. By this time tomorrow he won’t be high anymore which means he’s going to have to take the extra long drive back to his dorm. Alone. He could always stay with Peter, or Peter could move near the university and stay with him. But that seemed like too much. Living with your drug dealer.

Stiles makes the executive decision that he wants to nap, right there. So he climbs into Peter's lap, dislodging the hand on his neck but earning strong arms corded in muscle around his body. He kisses Peter the way he likes, knowing he'll earn a dimebag or maybe the poppers Peter keeps hidden in his safe. Then he settles into his chosen resting place, and closes his eyes. 

“You’re a good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named after a Lana Del Rey song I felt aptly captures the meaning of the fic. This is my first dark fic, after reading dozens. So I'm trying something new. Bear with me.


	2. Escalation

Stiles is trying to sweat out the last of the drugs in his system and ignore the slight twinges of pain he feels when his washcloth runs across a hickie or a bruise. He can’t help the fact that Peter’s scent was all over him now, living in his house tended to do things like that. And you can’t blame him for moving in with his drug dealer (slash former enemy). He's already shitting on himself about it, he doesn't need anyone pointing out how desperate his situation has become.

He couldn't focus in school any more. He'd either come in high or hungover or wouldn't show at all. Peter tried to help of course, but Stiles was a mess. His grades were beginning to dip drastically so he decided to cut his loses and pull out. After getting permission to spend a year off of school in the wake of his father’s death, he had nowhere else to go. No dorm to crash in, no childhood home to retreat to. It took Peter literally picking him up from the motel he’d planned on wallowing in, for Stiles to even accept his help. Peter had certainly won him over with the threat of telling Scott and the rest of the Mystery Gang all the shit he'd gotten into himself.

So Stiles caved. Where else did he have to go? He absolutely refuses to go back to Beacon Hills, and without his financial aid and the scholarship money he receives each semester, he barely has enough to feed himself. He knows the money from selling the house and his father’s life insurance policy are sitting in the bank right now, waiting for him to access the funds and _do_ something. But he can’t. He can’t take that money.

Besides, Peter feeds him now. Peter’s loaded, in part because of his “job” and another part thanks to the Hale family trust. Cora has no access to it since she has no way of proving that she is in fact, a long lost Hale. And Derek doesn’t ever check up on the funds if he can help it. He knows that Peter watches it, and he’s trying to keep his uncle permanently out of his life as he finally finds happiness.

Stiles doesn't blame him. But he is bitter he couldn't take him with him to whatever rock he hid under.

Peter lives in the penthouse of a high rise luxury apartment near the bay. He’d given Stiles a tour on his first day of “living” here, but Stiles had finished a pot brownie and was pretty out of it. He had planned to let the body high take over and veg out on Peter’s couch, but the older man had other plans. Stiles high out of his mind and too focused on moving his legs forward so he can keep up with Peter, while Peter counts off the many bedrooms.

The tour hadn’t mattered anyway. Peter put Stiles in the room directly across from his own, and locked whatever else he didn’t want him getting into. Not that Stiles even thought about snooping. What could he possibly hope to learn about the drug kingpen than he already knew? He didn’t want to know more. He’d spent his whole life searching and searching for the next fact for the next great truth. Quite honestly, ignorance is bliss as far as he’s concerned.

Which is why he’s running the shower on high, he has a visit with Scott tomorrow to go over his Best Man duties, and he doesn’t need his best friend sniffing out what he’s been getting up to. It’s bad enough he’ll be able to smell Peter, and what Peter has done to him. Scott spends too much time in a pet hospital to not pick up at least some of what Stiles has been putting in his body.

If Scott found out he’d think that Stiles had a _problem_ , that he needed to _talk_ , and come back to Beacon Hills. Which would be stupid because Stiles doesn’t even use drugs like that. He’s not an idiot, he can recognize the symbols of drug abuse. He would surely recognize it in himself, and then immediately put a stop to it. He doesn’t need Scott going all Alpha on him because he thinks he’s some baby bird with a broken wing. He just uses enough to take his mind off things. To make him hyper (more than usual) or to make him mellow out to a vegetative state every now and then. He doesn't need his best friend to hover over him in worry.

He gets enough helicopter parenting from Peter.

 _Shit!_ Stiles thinks, _Peter’s going to know something’s wrong._ With a quickness, Stiles reaches through the scalding hot water and turns it off. If Stiles took too long in the bathroom Peter would let himself in and start asking questions. He had his own ways of dealing with Stiles’ depression. Not all of them were pleasant. 

His timing is perfect because just as he’s closing the clear shower door and sliding a towel around his waist, Peter has let himself into the steamy bathroom. He’s dressed in what Stiles thinks of as his “relax” clothes. A dark sweater made of the softest material Stiles has ever felt before, and a pair of expensive looking gym sweats. He’s barefoot, and Stiles spares a thought as to whether or not he was careful about how much water he got on the floor. But Peter didn’t look mad, so Stiles took that to mean he hadn’t.

“You alright in here, kitten?”

Pet names. Peter adored them. Stiles was everything from kitten (his favorite) to sweetheart (his second favorite) to darling (the one he used when trying to be serious). Stiles had protested when they first met (for the second time) but Peter didn’t care. And for all that he was now doing for him, Stiles decided it would be in his best interest to allow Peter to do what he wants. His life would be easier in the long run.

“Yeah...I-I’m nervous about tomorrow.” Stiles ran a hand across his the back of his neck. His fingers were slick from his shower, and occasionally water pitter pattered from his hair to his shoulder blades. 

He wanted to buzz it again to bring himself back to a time when he and his father had only each other against the world. His mother’s death put an unbearable strain on each of them, and their relationship suffered for a while because of it. But in the end, they came out together stronger on the other side. The loss of the most important woman in their lives had been tempered by the fact that they had to be strong for each other. With his father gone who would be strong with Stiles? Who would remind him to be strong?

Buzzing it looked better every day, something to bring him closer to his father, you know? He wanted to, but Peter liked it long. He liked to grab it while he fucked him. Liked to run his hands through when he was high and feeling clingy. So he kept it long. It curled around his ears when wet, hung in his eyes when he was sweating on molly. It was a nuisance but Peter would probably kill him if he cut it.

“You’re trying to sweat out the drugs so he won’t know.” Peter doesn’t ask, just states the facts as he sees them. Stiles fidgets before answering, but it’s enough to give Peter an excuse to touch him. Not that Peter needs an excuse, Peter does what Peter wants.

“He’ll smell you all over me, how do I explain that? You caused us so much danger back then, how do I explain that you’ve taken me in and become all domesticated?” hating himself for it, Stiles leans in and rubs his forehead against Peter’s shoulder. He was careful not to put too much of his still wet body on the expensively dressed man, but he inwardly cringed when he saw the dark spots of water along the shoulder seam in his sweater.

“Stiles, darling you know you’re one of my favorite people. And I’ve wanted you for a long time. I’m here to take care of you. If Scott was the man I believe him to be he won’t question it. He’ll know that you're happy getting help from me and back off.” Peter kissed his temple at the conclusion of his speech. Stiles barely responded, he was numbly trying to work through his emotions to see if they matched what Peter was talking about.

He wasn’t happy. He hasn’t been happy in a long time now, that’s why he occasionally partakes in ill advised ventures (like the drugs and the random sex partners). He went into those things with the knowledge that if he fucks up enough, his body will release adrenaline and he can pretend that’s happiness. At least for a little while. What he has with Peter is complacent, and toxic. Peter gives him drugs and allows him to live with him rent free, Stiles allows him to fuck and kiss him. That's not happiness.

“I don’t think I can hide what we’ve done,” Stiles swallows down the bile rising in his throat, “But he won’t be okay with the other stuff I was doing. He knew I was partying a lot but he thinks I’m done with that now. If he smells the drugs…”

“Then how about we give him something to focus on hmm?” Peter licks a stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck, and pushes claw tipped fingers harder into the soft flesh around his hips.

That was Peter’s solution for everything. Headache, sex. Feeling nauseous, sex. Bad day, sex. Good day, sex. There’s very little that Stiles could do that would lead to Peter not suggesting they have sex. Peter works hard, he likes to say, and Stiles helps him relax. Stiles makes him feel good. So Peter likes to return the favor for Stiles. Because an orgasm can make anything better, right?

And Stiles lets it happen. Because the sex isn’t always awful, and as frequent as it is it keeps him from thinking of the fact that it took him two weeks to learn about his father’s death. And Peter only asks for sex when Stiles isn’t doing anything, so there’s that. If Stiles really in the mood, Peter lets him tempt him into doggystyle, so he can dissociate and pretend it’s not even happening.

But Stiles doesn’t think Peter will let him do that today. Peter likes Stiles on his back, where he can see him. He lets Stiles beg off sometimes, and he lets Stiles choose the position, but at the end of the day Peter’s the Alpha. What he wants he gets. Stiles only has the illusion of choice.

“I think that will make him mad more than anything else, he doesn’t even know that I’m seeing you.” Stiles gently extracts himself from Peter’s grip, kissing his cheek as payment so the older man allows him to walk over to the sink and begin brushing his teeth for bed.

Scott knew nothing about his exploits up here. As far as he’s concerned, Stiles is back in school, working through his grief and towards his degree. He invited him down to Beacon Hills on weekends, knowing that the distance between the Bay Area and their hometown was about a three hour drive. Two if you could beat the traffic. But he declines. The weekends are his heavy drug days. He wouldn't be able to hide that from his friend. He wouldn't even make it behind the wheel without braining himself on the stairs probably.

The weekend was the only time he allowed himself to go a little crazy. Stiles was almost as strict about his drug habit as he was about what he allowed Scott to know about his life outside of Beacon Hills. Scott was fine, working towards being a vet in town, moving into his own apartment near Derek’s lofts. Scott had his shit together.

It was Stiles who couldn’t seem to get with the program.

“Oh,” Peter says. The syllable is dangerously short and breathy. Like he’d expected Stiles to say that but had hoped for something different. Without another word, Peter exited the bathroom and left Stiles to his nightly routine.

  


It was only seven, nowhere near the time Stiles usually went to bed, but Peter liked to be in bed by eight so he can relax and read for an hour before bed. The early bedtime also gave him a chance to decide if he wanted to defile Stiles that night and still have him up early enough for school. Stiles was usually left up long after they’ve finished and Peter’s gone to bed. And since he’s not in school anymore what does it matter what time he goes to bed. But Peter likes routine, and Stiles would definitely regret it if he broke the routine.

When he exits the bathroom in his sleeping clothes (basketball shorts and a Berkeley hoodie) Peter is not in bed where he expects him. He debates going searching, trying to weigh how angry Peter will be with him if he finds him not in his expected position in bed. Ultimately he decides that he can always say he was wondering why he wasn’t in bed. Peter would delude himself into thinking it was a caring statement and let him off with just a kiss.

So Stiles goes on a search. He doesn’t expect to look for long, Peter’s penthouse was an open plan thoroughly modern affair in nothing but sea greens, porcelain whites, and dark greys. It’s cold and sterile and leaves few options for someone to hide anything or anywhere. You can see most of the house from the kitchen and vice versa. It shouldn't be hard to find Peter, there's nowhere to hide. 

Peter, of course, manages to hide his "products all over". Mostly from Stiles and his itchy fingers, but also from the occasional friends he invites over for dinner parties. He’s “officially” a consultant, and uses the rich druggies he caters to as tax write offs. A lot of his clientele are unspeakably rich and his business spreads from networking and word of mouth. Which mean's occasionally playing host or going to parties. Stiles is probably his poorest best supplied client.

Then again, he’s paying in other ways.

Walking down the hallway and into what Peter calls the sitting room, leaves Stiles with no answers. So he keeps walking, passing Peter’s office and seeing no movement through the open blinds of the glass walls. He walks even further, feet almost numb on the cold marble floors, and finds himself reaching carpet. The living room. Complete with a flat screen, a ridiculous entertainment system, and a long L shaped leather couch. 

Peter likes to let Stiles shoot up in here. He hardly ever touches heroine, only when he’s feeling at his worst to be honest. So he hardly needs to shoot up and splay out on this couch. But Peter favors how lovable and passive Stiles become while under the influence. Heroine Stiles is liable to agree to just about anything if high enough. Sometimes he thinks he already has. He’s already broken the one rule he swore two weeks ago to never breach. He’s living with his drug dealer.

A noise from the foyer catches Stiles’ ear, and he turns reluctantly away from the couch that could easily be perceived as the start of his twisted relationship with Peter, and follows the noise. What he sees, is enough to make him swallow his tongue.

There Peter stands, cigarette in the corner of one mouth, Stiles’ hastily packed suitcases at his feet, in front of the open door. The wolf seems perfectly at ease. You wouldn’t even know he was angry if it wasn’t for the clawed fingers bringing the cigarette to and fro from it’s place in his lips, and the ice blue eyes regarding him cooly. Stiles knows what’s happening, can see it clearly in the way that his things are cruelly lumped together in the carpeted hallway. But he still can’t stop himself from making an aborted step forward and croaking, “Why?”

Peter smirks, it’s mean and ugly and makes fear crawl forcefully up his throat. Stiles hasn’t seen that smirk in a while. He can’t even begin to understand what it means anymore. He’s so unused to the sight of it.

“I was just making things easier for you. You already have one foot out of the door, why not take the rest of your things with you?” Peter breathes out a cloud of grey smoke, and the stench of menthol and nicotine linger in the air long after the smoke dissipates.

 _He’s hurt!_ Stiles thinks, _He’s hurt because I haven’t told Scott about him!_ The thought doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only thing that fits such an about face from Peter. Up until now he’s been nothing but helpful. Taking Stiles in, helping him handle all his paperwork for school so he doesn’t lose his scholarship. And he’s hurt now because Stiles didn’t tell a guy he went to highschool with that they’re seeing each other.

Wait, no. Not some guy. Scott. Cause if it was just Isaac or Derek, Peter wouldn’t care. They’re none factors to his life because they’re none factors in Stiles’ life. But Scott is someone Stiles considers a brother. A guy he’s lived and killed for. For Stiles to not tell Scott about Peter’s reentrance into his life, is like Stiles telling Peter that his help doesn’t matter.

Or more accurately, that their relationship doesn’t matter.

The thing is they’re not _in_ a relationship. They’re not dating, they’re not even technically seeing each other. Peter is just a guy keeping him high and letting him (figuratively) sleep on his couch. Stiles repays that by not complaining when Peter insists they have sex. He’d assumed that was enough for the older man.

Apparently not.

“Peter,” Stiles croaks, “Don’t do this. It’s late and I have nowhere else to go.”

Peter sneers, “That’s all I am to you, huh? Just a warm bed and a free meal. Doesn’t matter at all that I’ve taken you into my care? Doesn’t matter at all what I’ve done for you?”

Stiles gulps and fights for the words to defend his case. Peter wasn’t wrong. He’d never asked him for anything, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t grateful for what he'd received. And he doesn’t mind the other stuff, but it’s not even like he ever asked for any it. Why does it matter that he hasn’t even told Scott about them.

When he says as much to Peter, his expression goes dark, and Stiles feels his heart sink to the bottom of his feet. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing up until he stumble into the entryway table, knocking over a black marble vace filled with white roses. It falls to the ground and shatter spectacularly. Peter doesn’t even notice.

Instead he takes a long drag off of his cigarette, and flicks it into the puddle of water that had once inhabited the vase. Then, he approaches Stiles slowly, with every step, he asks a question.

“Who else do you have Stiles?” Step. “Who else puts food in your mouth?” Step. “Who supplies you with the drugs that help you forget about your father, just like how you forgot about him and he died with no one there.”

Stiles feels tears gathering in his eyes, and he shrinks even further away from Peter’s advancing form. 

“You’re honestly lucky I feel like fucking you. If I don’t do it who will? Lord knows you’ll do anything for a hard cock and a strong drug.” Stiles cringes when Peter finally reaches him, and continues to cry.

In a mood incongruous to his words, Peter reaches out and presses a claw tipped finger to trace the path of a tear. Stiles shudders when the claw presses deeper into the meat of his cheek, but Peter doesn’t allow himself to puncture the flesh. Instead, he leans close enough for Stiles to feel his lips moving when he speaks.

“You need to get out Stiles. I’ve done so much for you and you hurt me so badly. I expected so much more from you.”

Stiles lets out a strangled sob and shakes his head.

“No, no Peter please.” He begs, “I don’t have anywhere else to go, please. I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter sighs, and turns Stiles’ face so that he’s looking him in his eyes. They’re no longer ice blue, and his fingers are no longer deadly. All Stiles sees is pained and warm blue eyes, all his feels is a soft and gentle hand gripping him by his chin. Peter is unbearably human in that moment, and Stiles feels horrible.

“Sweetheart,” Peter whispers brokenly. His searches for something in Stiles’ face, and then winces, like he’s hurt by what he sees. With smooth movements, he steps away from Stiles, and points him towards the door. “You need to leave.”

Stiles feels himself cry even harder at that. He has once again fucked up a good thing. Peter has done a lot of terrible shit, but what he’s done for Stiles has had to have made up for that. Right? 

He took Stiles in, he kept him sane after the death of his father. He’s the only one from his past that has an actual idea of what Stiles is going through, the only one who sees him struggling. And Stiles just spit in his face, just told him all he’d done was for nought because Stiles was too centered on making sure his best friend couldn’t guess his reality.

“Peter,” Stiles sobs, “Please.” He reaches for the wolf, and Peter grips his outstretched wrist forcefully. With one harsh shove, he sends Stiles forcefully into his bags and onto the ground.

Stiles can literally feel his hip bruising from the fall, but he’s more focused on getting Peter to forgive him. Because he _cannot_ lose Peter. If he loses Peter who does he have left?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Peter, please!” Stiles manages to get himself on his knees and tries to crawl towards Peter. But Peter just disgustedly pushes him away with one hard shove to the top of his head. He turns instead to throw the rest of Stiles’ thing out of the door and into the hallway.

“I’ll tell him!” Stiles whines, “I’ll tell him I promise. Just please don’t leave me alone! Don’t make me go out there alone! I don’t,” he pauses to breathe through his tears, “I don’t have anyone else Peter. You’re the only one.”

Peter pauses, he’s standing in the doorway with his back to Stiles. Taking the other man’s stillness as permission to approach him, Stiles clumsily gets back on his feet and trips into Peter’s back. He grips him tightly and presses his tear stained face into his shirt.

“I’ll tell him Peter,” Stiles whispers hoarsely, “I promise I’ll tell him about you a-a-and what you’ve done for me. Just,” He breathes and squeezes closer, “ _please_ don’t throw me away. You’re the only person who’s been there for me. I don’t know where else to go.”

Peter is still stiff despite Stiles’ promises. He sighs in defeat, and forcefully removes Stiles’ hands from his body. Despite Stiles’ fighting, he manages to get the much smaller man in front of him, and looks at him with hurt blue eyes. “I can’t believe you Stiles. I need some space. Try to come back tomorrow and I’ll try to start trusting you again.”

Stiles bursts into tears again at Peter’s words, but he nods anyway. He can’t make Peter do anything. He can’t force his way into the penthouse, and he certainly can’t force Peter into letting him back in. But the invitation to come back tomorrow is more than he’d hoped to get, so he leaves without too much pushing on Peter’s part.

Before he shuts the door, Peter steals one last kiss, and Stiles puts his all into it. Peter loves kissing him, and while Stiles doesn’t care for the fake intimacy, he’ll fake it to get Peter to seriously consider letting him back into the house. And he thinks he’s succeeded, because when Peter pulls back, he’s smiling that fond indulgent smile. The one he gives him when Stiles his high out of his mind and feeling affectionate.

“Come back tomorrow, kitten.” Peter says softly.

Stiles nods, “Okay, Daddy.”


	3. Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note, working on another dark pic with these two lovelies that I'm hoping to post once I'm nearing the end of this one.

_“I'm out of options here Peter.”_

_“And I've been more than generous Stiles. Picking you up when you fall, cleaning your owies. I feel like I've gone above and beyond what was expected of me.”_

_“Peter-”_

_“How's McCall doing? Has the True Alpha succeeded in helping you kick that filthy habit?”_

_“...Scott has a lot on his plate, I can't expect him to worry about me. But you, you can help me.”_

_“And why should I Stiles? You made it clear from the beginning that I was nothing but a warm body with a clean needle. What do I get from helping you?”_

_“I-”_

_“And let’s just assume the original deal won't work, shall we? We've both come a long way since you were giving me blowjobs and warming my sheets for a couple grams. I think you're a big boy now. You know how this is gonna go.”_

_“What do you want, then?”_

_“The full experience, GFE, if you will. Or, in our case, BFE. You'll get your own credit card, I'll replace the clothes you left behind, give you all the goodies your druggie heart desires. But you're mine. No running to McCall when things get a little scary.”_

_“Will I still be able to talk to Scott?”_

_“Stiles, I'm not a complete monster. You can have monitored phone calls. Text messages are fine as well, under my supervision of course. What do you say Stiles, do we have a deal?”_

 

Scott looks good, like really good. Life after high school has been unfairly good to him unsurprisingly. He’s thriving in veterinary school, moved into a place closer to Allison and Beacon Hills so he can make the commute back and forth. Finally started to grow a bit of stubble that didn’t make him look like a 70’s porn star.

He was aging well.

Stiles on the other hand, was a pale mess. Paler than usual. He wasn’t losing weight, Peter kept a tight hold on what he was and wasn’t allowed to eat. But he looked sleep deprived, unfocused. 

Junk food was no longer in his diet, and he only drank when Peter allowed him to. Drugs were the only thing he had any real control over, and Peter controlled that too.

Scott asks him to meet in this really expensive but homey coffee shop in the city. It’s closer to the financial district, closer to where Peter lives than Stiles is comfortable with. But Scott says he heard it was good from Derek who heard it was good from someone else. Stiles didn’t have to think too hard about who that might be.

When they sit down and Stiles winces at the ache in his muscles, Scott shoots him concerned looks that Stiles ignores. He can no doubt smell Peter all over him and is just waiting for his friend to fill him in on what was going on. Stiles doesn’t want to get into it.

He’s away from the adrenaline and rush of emotion and fear abandonment now. He knows that Peter was just trying really hard to get him to do what he wanted, nothing new there. But Stiles felt he was fully in his right not to tell Scott anything. There was nothing to tell.

He and Peter weren’t dating. They weren’t even fucking, for christs sake. Stiles just gave him a blowjob or a quick handjob when his bank account was kind of low. But that was just a transaction. There was no love or affection there whatsoever. And he may get high out of his mind when he’s with Peter, but that’s the only reason he’s with the older man at all.

Stiles wasn’t overexagerrating when he said he was alone. Scott had his own thing going on, and Stiles is pretty sure that if Scott could figure out what was going on with Stiles he’d be disgusted. But they’re not best friends anymore. Scott has Isaac for that. The only reason Stiles is even his best man is because Scott thinks that they can go back to how things once were. But Stiles wasn’t as naive.

He didn't have any long lost relatives hiding out in Poland or across the country. The only Stilinski's left in existence had been himself, his mother, and his father. Now it was just him. Stiles had lost his mother in the most terrible way. He’d watched her waste away from this vibrant woman who would race him through the preserve and make him feel better when his ADHD got him into trouble at school to a skeleton. She became a shadow image of her former self. Gums rotted out from chemo, hair gone, skin pale and sickly from lack of nutrition since she could no longer handle solid foods.

His dad was gone so fast he hadn’t even know it had happened. He’d been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn’t thought to call his dad to check up on him. All he cared about was passing this next class and studying for this test. He hadn’t even known he was gone. It took someone who wasn’t family to identify his body. Who did he have now? His dad had been there for him through his grief for his mother, the horror that was his sophomore through senior year at high school. Who was going to help him through his father’s death?

“Dude you….smell like Peter.” Scott scrunched up his nose adorably. His face was still open despite the sour look upon it, and Stiles battled with himself over whether or not he should tell him what he was getting up to.

Scott would never forgive Peter for what he did to him. Becoming a werewolf had probably been the worse thing to ever happen to him, and as he’s come since hating his nature, he still held some resentment. And even now, as he jokes about how Stiles reeks of the other man, Stiles can see the tension in his shoulders. There hasn’t been a single seriously bad thing to happen to Scott since Peter disappeared senior year. Smelling the other wolf couldn’t be pleasant for him.

“Uh, yeah….I ran into him.” Stiles said vaguely.

Scott relaxed, just barely but Stiles saw it, “Well it smells like you _really_ ran into him. He’s all over you man.”

Stiles shrugged, and decided to say fuck it, “Yeah well, I’ve kinda been living with him actually.”

The way Scott’s mouth drops open would be funny if not for the feeling Stiles feels in his stomach. It’s an empty, nauseous ache that reminds him of that drop he felt when Melissa told him his dad died from a heart attack. Wrapping his arms around himself doesn’t make it ache any less.

Scott stares at him incredulously for another minute, and then he burst out laughing, “Okay man, that was kinda funny in a really not funny way. Why do you really smell like Peter.”

Stiles turns his eyes away from his friend, and looks out of the wide window they’re sitting next to. Without lying to himself, he admits that he’s looking for the familiar skyscraper that houses Peter’s apartment complex. Peter’s no doubt at home right now. Wearing his funny looking glasses and going over his books. He’s very meticulous about his business and refuses to hire an accountant. He wouldn't even allow Stiles in the same room as him when he was working. He was banished to any part of the house Peter wasn't in. Wasn't all that hard to keep away anyway. Stiles didn't really want alone time with the Alpha.

Peter would sit in his office and look at his ledger and then his budgets and orders for an hour or so, take a break in the complimentary gym his building provides, and listen to podcasts about finance and stocks. He’ll shower and order a light lunch from the michelin starred restaurant on the ground floor. And then he’d relax with some jazz and light reading before his “troops” as he calls them, texts him the details of the day’s sales.

Stiles can’t remember if today is Wednesday or not. On Wednesdays Peter does inventory, replaces stocks, calls old customers, researches his competitors. Wednesdays were Stiles’ favorites because Peter wouldn’t expect to hear a peep out of him for hours. He could just keep himself high and float around the apartment as he pleased.

“Stiles!” Scott says. His voice sounds urgent, as if he’d been calling the other man for a while. His happy relaxed posture is gone now. He’s noticeably stiff and wary of the entire cafe. He’s not looking anywhere but at Stiles, but Stiles can tell that the Alpha is using his senses to see if Peter is nearby.

It sends a pang of unfair betrayal and guilt that his best friend...former best friend- thought he’d just spring a man like Peter on him out of nowhere. He may have totally lost his dignity to associate with the zombie wolf, but that doesn’t mean that he’d completely lost his mind. 

Not to mention the fact that Peter isn’t even interested in Scott at the moment. He’d found his own way to become an Alpha. How, Stiles never thought to ask. Scott was the least of Peter's problems. As far as Peter was concerned, Scott is an unfortunately important token of Stiles’ past. A nuisance and failure from his past that he doesn't like to think of. If Stiles happened to accidentally mention him in conversation, Peter always got this dangerous look in his eyes. Stiles didn't mention Scott often. Last night had been the first time he'd come up since Stiles moved in.

“Why are you living with Peter, what happened to your dorm? What’s he done to you?” Scott asked in rapid fire hysteria. He was trying to put off _you can trust me, I’ll take care of you_ vibes. But Stiles was more concerned with the sparkling cement on the street next to them.

He’d heard once that they recycled glass by smashing it up and mixing it in cement. The bigger fragments caught the light, and that’s what made the streets sparkle. He didn’t know if he believed it personally, but then again he’d never believed in werewolves before. So glass being in cement wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibilities.

“I took a year off school.” Stiles says simply, as if it explains everything. He’s still kind of lost in his thoughts, floaty and kind of adrift all at once. His behavior could probably be blamed on the forgotten dimebag of Stress he found in his glove compartment, but he felt that would be to much of a generalization.

The weed made it hard to focus on anyone thing, and anything he did focus on felt kind of far away. None of his problems could touch him at the moment, even when he thought about them. Even Scott’s horrified expression didn’t bother him. he couldn't decide if it was the weed making him not care, or if his general lack of motivation to live. Either way, Scott seemed to sense that Stiles wasn't on the same page as him as far as horror about the return of Peter Hale.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re living with Peter. Peter _Hale_ , Stiles. The same guy who spent a year trying to kill us!” Scott exclaims. People look over at their little table in surprise, and Stiles vaguely feels like telling his friend to maybe take it down a notch. The thought comes and goes without him deciding one way or another.

“Actually he spent a year killing the people who killed his family and put him in a coma for six years. He only wanted to make you pack.” Stiles says this in an offhand voice, his focus on the pastry case across the cafe. He’s racking his brain to see if he still has that twenty Peter refused to take from him. If so, he should go and buy it. Scott hadn't given them much time to order anything when they first came in. And Stiles hasn't eaten since he was at Peter's last night.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaims in shock.

Stiles looks over at Scott, studying the frantic panic and the disbelieving look on his face. He can’t help but feel his friend is kind of overexagerrating at the moment. And any moment now his high is gonna wear off and he’s going to have to deal with not only Scott and his probing questions but also Peter.

Cause Scott’s not gonna let this go. He might hate being a werewolf, but what he hated more than anything was that it was Peter who had made him this way. He would take Peter’s reemergence into his life as proof that bad things were happening. And the fact that Peter was around Stiles, the one farthest from Scott’s reach would just make him that much more insistent on finding the wolf and “fixing” what was going on.

Nothing needed to be fixed. Stiles has a handle on his life, well. Okay, he doesn’t. But he also doesn’t want Scott poking around up here. Because as dimwitted as his friend has a tendency to be, there’d be no mistaking the fact that Peter is up to something illegal, and that Stiles is involved as well.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you Scott, Peter’s been helping me out up here. My father’s death hit me hard, and Peter’s been the only thing keeping me from taking a dive off the nearest bridge.” Scott starts at Stiles’ words, but it doesn’t really cut through the haze of Stiles’ mind.

“We’re not friends, and he actually doesn’t give two shits about you. He’s just up here, doing his own thing. So leave it alone and focus on getting married.”

Stiles hopes that’s the end of it, he hopes that this will count in Peter’s eyes as Stiles telling Scott about “them”, and he hopes he can get in line and by that chocolate cake donut before Scott tries to delve deep into wedding shit.

When Scott looks like he’s about to protest or argue some more, Stiles stands up and starts walking towards the front of the cafe. He digs in his pockets as he gets in line, ignoring Scotts whisper yelled calls and instead looking at the chalkboard filled with the prices. He makes it all the way through his transaction and back to the table before Scott comes to the conclusion that Stiles won’t be telling him anything else about his situation with Peter. He also doesn’t seem to be in the mood anymore to talk about wedding stuff, so with a quiet voice he insists Stiles call him when he can and then leaves.

Stiles stays until his high wears off, long after he’s finished the donut, before shooting a text to Peter.

 _I did it, can I come and pick up?_ He’s already walking to his jeep as he texts, knowing Peter isn’t likely to refuse him and reject him for long. Stiles is still a (mostly) paying customer after all.

Proving his point, his phone chimes as soon as he gets into the jeep.

_Good boy. Aunt Hazel awaits. Let yourself in, I’ll leave the key card with security._

Heroin? Stiles pauses what he's doing and reads over the text again. Heroin wasn’t really his drug of choice. He’d had a few acquaintances who did it, and it wasn’t like he was some virgin. But it made him really loopy. He really lost it on that stuff, he hadn’t built a tolerance yet. As much as he wanted to let go and get away from the pit in his chest, he didn't know if he quite liked how far gone heroin made him.

Plus Peter kept him flush with softer drugs. Marijuana, Molly, pills that wouldn’t clash with the meds he was already on. Peter knew what to give him to give him the high he wanted, and he also knew heroin wasn’t always it. For Peter to just offer it up, meant that he missed him. Or he felt him deserving of the reward.

Stiles didn’t know what to feel worse about. The fact that his drug dealer was fond of him enough to know what would and wouldn’t work for him, or that Peter thought telling Scott that Stiles was in contact with him was deserving of his most expensive product. 

And then there was the pet name, which was more of a hint than the heroin that Stiles was back in Peter’s good graces. Maybe he’d be able to move back in today. Sleeping in a jeep wasn’t exactly doable at his age, or his size. 

With how Peter doted on him, Stiles didn’t doubt that if he asked, Peter wouldn’t hesitate to buy him a new car. Not that he would. He was already indebted to the man. He’d have to pay a steep price to get something like that out of the man. And Stiles knew without a doubt that he’d never be free of the man then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sloppy editing btw. I was going through some writer's block and then a wonderful comment from someone (shoutout to you (idk if you wanna be named but I think you know who you are) got me back at my desk. I was vibrating to get this online.


	4. You Can Be The Boss, Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter I wrote that's the most E rated. I don't often write sex scenes so if this is weird I apologize. Also, all the italics are things that I have already happened or about to happen. You can kinda tell, depending on what's said, but if I tell you anymore I spoil things.

_“Stiles! What a wonderful surprise, what’ll it be this time? Molly again? Weed? I know about your preference for Indica over Sativa and I’m sure I can get my pastry guy to give you the best weed brownies you’ve ever had in your life.”_

_“I….ugh, I have a test coming up…”_

_“What are you studying again? Criminology?”_

_“Y-yeah. Peter, I need to pass this test. My counselor has been trying to get me to take time off school ‘cause of…”_

_“And you don’t want to. What do you need?”_

_“I just need to pass this next test. I need to prove to her I’m_ fine _. I need her to get off my back.”_

 _“Last I checked, Stiles, you already have your own_ legal _supply of Addies. Why come to me?”_

_“My doctor won’t up the dose. I already went through what I’ve been allotted for the month and the test is next week. Please Peter, help me out.”_

_“Alright, alright. Doctor Hale is on the case. How about I give you this here prescription bottle. I was saving it for another college student of mine, but he was a little low on funds and didn’t like my other forms of payment.”_

_“Okay ew, I didn’t really need to know that but thanks. How much?”_

_“Five hundred dollars.”_

_“Fi- jesus Peter! That’s way over my usual rate. Don’t I get the Beacon Hills discount?”_

_“We both know that that is bullshit, and my price is my price because this here is prescription. A lot of bribing and forgery went into this Stiles. The price is reflective of that. Now either pay or_ pay”

_”Peter….”_

_“Get on your knees, Stiles. Open your mouth for Daddy._

  


Stiles feels so alive right now. 

“You’re so pretty for me baby-ah so-ah, pretty.” Peter growls. 

He’s so warm and everything feels good. His head feels like like it might float off at any minute. Peter won’t let it though. Peter likes his head. 

“God! Stiles, your ass! I’m so deep baby. So deep.” Peter leans forwards, kissing all thoughts of floating away from Stiles’ brain. 

Instead, all he can think about is the grounding pleasure that is Peter’s thick cock in his hole, the light nipping of Peter’s unhuman teeth against his kiss bruised lips, Peter’s hand against his neck. He’s surrounded by Peter from the inside out and it’s so freeing. So amazing. He moans with abandon when Peter begins to mercilessly drag against his prostate.

“That’s it baby, you love Daddy’s dick don’t you? Don’t you baby?” Peter switches from torturous grinding to harsh, body rocking pounding. His dick going in and out of Stiles at a pace too fast for any human to keep up.

Stiles tensed up a bit, waiting for that painful burn to reappear, and Peter noticed his discomfort immediately. He reaches for the little bottle on the night stand without breaking his strokes, and places the opening underneath Stiles’ nose.

“Come on baby, breathe in deep. That’s it, that’s it. Such a good boy, such a good boy. You make Daddy so proud, you know that? Daddy is so,” Peter places the bottle back on the nightstand and places his hand back on Stiles’ neck, “proud.” he purrs finally. 

His high starts anew, taking him farther than before. The pads of Peter’s fingers on his neck send intermittent shocks to his nervous system, making him tremble from the overwhelming pleasure it brings him. His body relaxes farther, sucking Peter deeper inside him, and the wolf moans appreciatively above him. 

“Oh, God Stiles. I could do this all day, baby.” he pushes even deeper, his knot catching threateningly at his rim. 

He’d been scared when he first saw that, he’d been scared suggesting sex to Peter in the first place. But the money he got from his dad’s life insurance and selling the house was starting to dwindle. Now that it wasn’t going to school anymore, he could access it for anything he wanted. Which mainly meant drugs since Peter payed for everything else.

Sex with Peter wasn’t something Stiles ever thought about seriously. He did everything else with the man. Blowjobs, handjobs (although Peter fucking hated being on the receiving end of handjobs), rimming, dry humping. Usually as a means to an ends. Like when some of his friends from class wanted to pregame before going out. 

Usually a blow job was good for a couple grams, letting Peter rut against him while he showered or in bed got him Peter’s credit card and entertainment laptop. Sex with Peter was a currency. It used to make him sick, thinking of all the things he’s had to do to Peter, to let him do to him, just for a fix. But he fixed that by not thinking about it . And thinking became kinda hard when you were high out of your mind. 

A growl was the only warning he got before Peter’s grip tightened on his throat, and breathing became very hard all of a sudden. The rough treatment made his dick leak, and the already adrift feeling fogging his skull intensified. The smarter part of him, the part of him that was very much afraid of Peter, realized pretty quickly that the man wasn’t actually choking him. But his dick still twitched and leaked copiously at the thought that Peter could end his life right at that moment. 

When his claws began to extend and retract, and Peter’s free hand grabbed onto his hip to tilt him just the way he liked, Stiles realized Peter was close. The fact that he was using his body to chase his own pleasure made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He wouldn’t cum from this, he wasn’t close and Peter hadn’t touched his dick the whole time they’d been doing this, but god did he want to. 

Peter would lose his mind if Stiles came from just his dick in his ass. There’d be no end to the gifts he’d received. Like that time he accidentally said I need you. Peter just about came in his pants when that happened. The Alpha was addicted to Stiles and the forced affection he gave him. Even an act like sex, a meaningless but pleasurable transaction, was enough to get Peter to grant him anything he wanted. 

Remembering that he’d initiated this with a goal in mind, Stiles clenched the muscles in his ass around Peter’s dick, and ground down as much as he was able, and moaned with abandon. 

“Daddy,” he cooed. Peter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at that, and when he opened his eyes, Alpha red had already bled through his usual blue. 

“God! Stiles, that voice!” 

Stiles didn’t comment, instead he used one hand to press Peter’s clawed hand harder against his throat, and the other to pull Peter’s hips closer to his own. His actions were rewarded by Peter literally howling in pleasure. He liked when Stiles participated, he liked it even more when Stiles pretending to be into manhandling like he was.

“Daddy,” Stiles cooed again, “I wanna travel. The city is boring. Can you take me somewhere? I’ve been good haven’t I. I’ve been such a good boy for you Daddy.”

The look on Peter’s face was one of pure euphoria, he was panting, and where they were connected Stiles could tell that Peter’s heart was beating was beating at a pace almost as fast as his own. His voice, fucked out and saturated in fake sweetness, had Peter’s rhythm stuttering. He was getting close, which meant Stiles’ window was closing. 

“Daddy, I gotta go to Beacon Hills for Scott’s wedding. And then I want to travel with you. Can we do that? I’ve been so good.” Stiles dug his short, blunt nails into Peter’s hands, the pressure was negligible, but the animal in Peter appreciated the fight.

With a growl, Peter came, pushing his knot painfully past Stiles’ rim, and pumping load after load inside of him. With a grimace, Stiles realized that he was going to have to spend an hour in the shower alone washing that out. If Peter even let him. He was very finicky about how much of his scent Stiles could wash off. 

While the tremors of his orgasm still coursed through him, Stiles placed light, butterfly kisses on his stubbled jaw and mouth. He took extra care around Peter’s elongated teeth, and the man hummed at the gently pleasure. Without warning, he flipped them, settling on his back, so the forty five minutes it took for his knot to deflate would be most comfortable for Stiles.

Stiles just waited, lowering himself on Peter’s slick chest, feeling the slight twitches and random thrust of Peter’s still hard cock. He dick remain hard between them, almost purple from neglect. Stiles ignored it though. He’d cum later on he knew, and if he asked Peter to cum the main would be much more amenable.

  


He wakes up much later, Peter’s knot has already deflated, his now soft cock laying limply on the very crest of his ass. The man himself was at Stiles’ back, spooning him from behind. One hand lays low on his stomach possessively, the other cards through his hair. Stiles focuses on waking up, taking note of random aches and pains, trying to categorize what came from sex, what came from Peter, and what came from “discipline”. Peter no doubt knows he’s awake, and engaging the man who seems content to just lay with him in silence seems like a dumb idea. 

He’s not as high anymore, and anything stupid he says now won’t earn him a smile and a cookie. Peter’s temper is legendary, and he’s been fortunate enough to only experience very light glimpses of it. His troops? Aren’t so lucky. 

Peter owns several warehouses and suburban houses. Depending on your rank on his totem pole, you either get a house and a “job” or you get a spot on the floor in a warehouse. No one Peter works with comes back to the apartment. Peter goes to them in an homebase of sorts in a residential area. 

Stiles tags along when he’s sober enough to function and not want to be alone, and Peter likes having him nearby to show off. He’d introduced him quite simply as his and anyone who thought they were above him or more important than him is sadly mistaken. He’d flashed Alpha red eyes when he said it too. The responding flash of beta blue and gold had Stiles standing closer to Peter than he originally wanted to. 

It made sense then, why Peter wasn’t as off the rails as other packless Alpha’s. It also made sense, why Peter was completely indifferent about Scott and his nephew, Derek. 

When Stiles began to fidget, uncomfortable with the sensation of warm cum seeping out of his ass and slowly moving against his ass cheeks, Peter’s grip tightened, claws tapped against his vulnerable skin.

“Someone’s awake.” Peter hums.

Something’s wrong. Peter has a dangerous timbre to his voice, one that usually preceded Stiles getting “disciplined” and more often than not followed Stiles fucking up. As much as Stiles liked to play with the power he had due to Peter’s strange affection for him, Peter was and is, always in charge. 

Peter never hurt him too bad, and the damage never lasted all that long. But there was always that fear, the fear that he could take it farther, that he could end his life without him being able to stop it. 

Peter reminds him often that leaving is an option. But Stiles knows how far gone he is now. If he left, he’d go through withdrawals, and after witnessing his friends suffering through that over and over again before relapsing, he’d rather keep up with his chemical cocktail dependence. Rehab meant therapy and telling his friends and he just couldn’t afford it. 

Scott already looked at him differently know when they found time to Skype. Admitting to a drug addiction at this point would drive his friend mad. He’d probably try to do something stupid, like kill Peter. 

“Daddy,” Stiles tries, knowing how much Peter likes to hear him say it.

Peter chuckles darkly, “Oh, _now_ I’m Daddy. That’s interesting. Because earlier it sounded like you were the one in charge.” 

Despite how dangerously calm he sounded, Peter’s hands traveled across Stiles’ body in a torturously arousing manor. Despite the bad feeling in his gut, he can feel his neglected erection perking up at the attention. 

He hated himself fiercely in that moment. Hated the control Peter had on his body. It wasn’t just the drugs either, or all the touching and sex. He was with the man all the time. Stiles had no reason to leave the apartment, his friends would come over if he was feeling lonely, Peter allowed that much. He hated how much control he’d managed to hand over without even realizing. 

Peter reminded him often, that the door was always open, and he would let Stiles leave if he really wanted to. But each time he said it, there was this predatory gleam in his eyes. Because he knew, they both knew, that Stiles wasn’t going anywhere, and Peter wasn’t any closer to letting him go.

Stiles can’t remember how it happened, when his brain suddenly flipped a switch from grudging acceptance of Peter in his life to need, but it happened. Between all the drugs and the sex and the Peter showered him with. Peter understood his loss, his grief, his depression. He kept Stiles away from all the bad parts of life which at one point would have driven him to madness, but now, he kinda likes it. Because every time something bad happened, someone he loved died. Everytime he involved himself in something, thinking he could help and fix it, it blew up in his face.

Ignorance is bliss, he's come to find. With Peter, he doesn’t have to deal with that. Because Peter takes care of it. Peter takes care of him. As long as he lets Peter do what he wants, as long as he ignores that faint but constant feeling of fear sitting low in his gut, he can have that nebulous safety he never got as a child. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mumbles.

Peter’s claw runs along the vein in his dick, “No you aren’t. But that’s okay kitten. Because you’re about to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is abrupt for a reason, sorry. Any mistakes are my own, I don't have a beta.


	5. The Beginning, The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO hey, It's been a while you guys, it's been a while. I just wanted to say that this next chapter was written in one straight emotional shot and has not been reread or edited in anyway. I want this to end this way and I love it and I'm not changing anything in it. SO I hope you enjoy and I may one day write another Steter dark fic, but for now, Au revoir.

_”Oh how the mighty have fallen.”_

_“Peter? Wha-what the hell.”_

_“Careful of the shoes Stiles. I know your kind can’t help what you expel but do take care. This is Italian leather.”_

_“What the hell? Where are you taking me?”_

_“That’s funny, I’ve never heard a ‘Thank you for not leaving me to drown in my own vomit in a gutter’ sound like that before. Then again, you’ve always been able to surprise me.”_

_“I-Wait I was what?”_

_“Seems the pretty boy who went to the trouble of roofieing you didn’t take into account the other things you were on. Dangerous, that. Mixing and fiddling with chemicals you have no business with.”_

_“I was roofied? And then you found me and now you’re…”_

_“I’m taking you back to my apartment to sober up. And don’t worry about your would be rapist, he won’t be doing much with what I left him.”_

_“Oh. Okay. One more question,”_

_“Ask away, sweetheart.”_

_“Why is my head in your lap?”_

 

“So you and Peter?” Isaac hummed.

Stiles shrugged and looked around anxiously for his Alpha. Scott’s wedding had been beautiful he supposes. He hadn’t seen much of it, too preoccupied with making sure an Argent didn’t put a bullet through his date’s head. He wasn’t as concerned about Peter ripping into them.

“Who’d have thought, huh? Kind of supposed you and Derek would get your head out of your asses but, hmm.” Isaac looked at Stiles with mild alarm. Might have something to do with how pale the other man had gotten at his words.

He and Peter were at a good point. He hadn’t done anything to earn any new bruises, he hadn’t been kicked out of the apartment, he hadn’t been forced to listen to Peter bang a twink he met at a club as punishment. Stiles was on his good side, so much so Peter allowed him to attend Scott’s wedding. 

He wasn’t in the wedding party any more, but he didn’t quite care as much as he probably should.

But he knew Peter, and his Alpha had no doubt been listening to this entire conversation, and he’s terribly possessive. Stiles gives him no reason to be, he hardly even looks at other men. But it doesn’t matter, if Peter thinks something is stealing his focus from him, he puts an end to it.

It’s why when the time came for him to go back to school, he didn’t go. Peter wouldn’t like it, which meant that Stiles _shouldn’t_ do it. Isaac and his big mouth had probably earned him some horrible punishment.

Finding the eye of his Alpha, impeccably controlled and calm looking in spite of his red eyes, confirmed it for Stiles. He was fucked.

“God, Isaac! Once a fuck up always a fuck up. Can you really not keep your mouth shut without Scott’s cock in it?” Stiles shoots one lasting and disgusted look Isaac’s way before he moves towards Peter. 

He knows every werewolf (Scott included) heard his outburst, but they aren’t the one’s he cares about right now. Stiles has to hope that the wedding put Peter in a good mood because if he takes what Isaac said seriously there’s no telling what he’ll do to Stiles as punishment. Getting him to come to the wedding had been too easy, of course he was suffering now.

Before Stiles can make it to Peter, Scott intercepts him with a thin lipped glare and his brown skin red in anger. 

“Can we talk outside, “ he whispers. Stiles shrugs, he needn’t have whispered, everyone is listening and doing their model best to seem like they aren’t.

“I really don't have time for this Scott,” Stiles says impatiently. He tries to walk around him, already looking in the direction he'd last seen Peter in. 

Scott places a hand on Stiles’ chest, “This is my wedding*! You will make time!”

Stiles looks back towards his friend, and he realizes that Scott is done with his shit. He casts one more look over to where he'd last seen Peter, and finds the man already looking at him. A contemplative look on his face. When he notices Stiles staring, he raises a single eyebrow. Stiles has no idea how to interpret that, and allows Scott to pull him into the hallway outside the banquet hall.

Scott paces back and forth, fingers in his hair and an angry red tint to his brown skin. He looks beyond pissed, and the red in his eyes are his only slip in control. He refrains from going into Beta shift, and doesn’t even have to fight off claws. But whenever he looks at Stiles, he seems close to breaking.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Scott mumbles to the floor, “No, really. What the fuck is going on in that head of yours. You think I’m too stupid to see what’s going on here, don’t you? You think this is high school, and you’re smarter than me and you can keep things from me because I won’t understand anyway.”

Scott turns fully, and Stiles has to swallow back the smart retort he’d prepared, should Scott ever actually figure out what was going on. 

“I know you’re using. I don’t know what, I don’t actually imagine that Peter keeps records of what he sells and what you buy. But I know it’s been messing with your head, and that Peter is behind it.”

“Now I’m only going to say this once; I want you to stop seeing Peter, I want you to go to rehab, and I want you to Get! Your! Shit! Together!” Stiles jumped, when Scott yelled. But Scott continued on, not caring if he scared his friend or not.”

“I’m serious. This is it! Either shape up, or get out of my life. ‘Cause, dude-Stiles,” Scott corrected himself, “This is it. This is your wake up call to fix your fucking life. The Sheriff wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this, man. Your hollow eyed and thin. You’ve been shaking since the engagement party. You’ve been sweating like mad and I know you’ve been lying and saying that you’re recovering from a bad cold.” Scott snorted, and Stiles hung his head in shame.

They had an audience, he knew, drawn by the sound of usually placid Scott raising his voice. Erica and Boyd, drawn by the sound of their Alpha in stress, stared at him with threatening Beta Gold eyes. Isaac and Allison looked equal parts horrified and furious. The rest of their guest, looked scandalized.

There was that Stilinski boy. Never been the same since his Daddy died. Huh, never been the same since that poor mother of his, Oh God rest her soul, passed away. And then he went and ran off to be a homosexual. Barb, hush, Oh no dear I mustn’t.

Scott pointed back and Stiles’ face flushed, “This doesn’t concern any of you!” Scott’s Alpha war, made his Beta’s cower in defeat, and the rest of the guest fenzy. Scott immediately turned sheepish, and cast mournful eyes at Allison and his Beta’s, who immediately jumped to action trying to evacuate the mob their guest had become.  
When they’d gotten everyone outside, all that was left was Peter and Scott and Stiles. Three points of a crudely drawn triangle. Stiles was afraid, to look at Peter to not look at Peter. He didn’t like how Scott’s dressing down made him feel. He didn’t like being reminded that the way he lived his life was so far away from anything his father had ever wanted for him. Scott’s words burned Stiles’ skin, while the memory of his father tore at his core. 

“I can’t even remember what my father looks like.” Stiles whispers brokenly to no one.

He wanted the cool, medical numbness he feels while he’s with Peter. He misses the mindless, selfish, and one sided sex they have. Peter’s too broken to feel anything for anyone, and Stiles realizes that Peter likes to use him to play pretend. Because he knows that Stiles is too broken not to play along, and make it feel real.

Stiles isn’t an idiot, and Peter knows and accepts that fact. They both know that their relationship is one big shame of emotionless sex and abuse and drugs and manipulation. Stiles isn’t so far gone to know he could really end Peter’s life if the wolf ever took things too far. Everything Peter does to him, the beatings, torturing him with infidelity, reminding him of how replaceable his is, monitoring his every move and every thought is something Stiles agrees to because he loves the mindlessness of giving over total power to someone else.

Peter likes having complete control over something he finds so pretty. Peter enjoys knowing that Stiles is worth enough to kill him someday, and he welcomes the time that Stiles eventually does decide that he’s bored of their little game. He’s already signed papers to have everything he owns, his kingdom, his money, his pack, his assets, given to Stiles. Knowing that his family’s money and his life’s work will be going to something as perfect as Stiles, is the only thing making his rebirth interesting. It’s no fun trying to amass his own wealth. He no longer quite cares about living, as much as he desperately wanted to at one point.

Stiles makes his work worth doing, knowing that every deal he makes, every ruthless life or death decision he’s put into while growing his empire, is for that beautiful doe eyed creature he takes to his bed, makes everything real, and everything necessary.

What Scott is asking, Stiles could one day decide to do. But for now.

“Come on Peter,”

Stiles wants his Daddy.


End file.
